Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dean
Practice ice at the Olympics never really settled into silence. Even at six in the morning there were coaches calling corrections from the boards, blades carving deep crescents into fresh resurfacing, music clipping in and out as programs overlapped each other.
I circled through a step sequence, letting muscle memory take over while my brain stubbornly refused to cooperate.
Outside edge.
Turn.
Check.
Breathe.
Usually skating settled me. Today it felt as if I was trying to hold water in my hands.
My timing slipped half a beat. I caught it late, overcorrected, and nearly clipped the barrier as I came out of the turn. The blade chattered beneath me before I forced it back under control.
Wonderful.
I pushed harder into the next pass.
That turned out to be another mistake.
The jump launched crooked, my landing edge too steep. The boards arrived a lot faster than expected, but I avoided them. I twisted out of it at the last moment and shot past the barrier close enough that my shoulder almost made contact.
“Do that again,” Mark called.
I circled back toward center ice. “You know, most people start conversations with good morning.”
“You want praise for almost decapitating yourself before breakfast?”
“Bit harsh.”
“Again, Dean.”
I reset automatically and pushed back into the sequence, every movement technically correct, but at the same time, absolutely none of me was inside it.
I knew Mark would pick up on that. The man saw everything.
By the time I coasted back to the boards, sweat cooling beneath my jacket, Mark was waiting with that infuriatingly patient expression coaches perfected after years of dealing with athletes determined to implode in creative ways.
“You’re thinking too much.”
I bent to snap guards onto my blades. “Interesting diagnosis. Did medical school reject you, or was it mutual?”
Mark stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. “This about your dad?”
Shit.
“Partly.” That wasn’t exactly a lie.
His eyebrows arched.
A coffee appeared in my line of sight before Mark could answer.
“How’s the reigning team event champion?”
David Winton stood there in a camel coat, scarf hanging loose around his neck, looking offensively awake for this hour of the morning. He kissed Mark on the cheek before handing him one of the cups, then gave me a pointed stare, still clearly expecting a response.
I forced a chuckle. “Still traumatized by NBC replaying my free skate every seven minutes.”
“As they should.” David gave me an approving glance. “You were amazing.” He pulled a creased envelope from his pocket, and held it out to me. “Can I have your autograph, Mr. Foster? That might make me a few bucks someday.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. That was David’s talent. He could walk into tension and defuse it in thirty seconds flat.
“Thanks for that, hon,” Mark said with a smile. “First time he’s looked human this morning.”
David cocked his head. “You okay, kid?”
The question was casual, and easy enough to answer honestly.
“I will be.”
David studied me for a second or two before nodding. Then he leaned over and kissed Mark’s cheek again. “I’m gonna leave you two to your brooding sports movie moment.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome.” David pointed at me while backing away. “Win gold tonight. I met your mom in the hotel lobby last night, and I always forget she is one scary lady. I’d like to stay in her good graces.”
I snorted. “That’s the teacher in her. She scares everyone.”
David headed toward the doors, and suddenly the silence that followed felt awkward.
I stared at my skate guards.
“I’m guessing ‘partly’ means this isn’t just about your dad.”
“Nope.”
Mark stayed quiet, waiting me out.
Finally I dropped my shoulders. “It’s Luka.” Then I snuck a glance at him.
Mark simply nodded. “Okay.”
I laughed under my breath. “Jesus Christ, does literally everybody know except me?”
Mark’s lips twitched. “Know what?”
I opened my mouth, then stopped, because saying it out loud still felt enormous.
Life-altering.
But if anyone would get where I was coming from, it would be Mark.
“I’m in love with him,” I admitted, my voice low and a little uneven.
Okay, now it was irreversible.
Mark looked at me for a long moment. “Yeah. I figured.” He spoke calmly, almost a matter-of-fact kinda tone.
I gaped at him. “You figured?”
“Dean.” His eyebrows shot upward again. “You don’t have any idea how you look at him, do you?”
“Oh my God.” Am I that obvious?
“But you know what? He looks at you the same way, although I suspect he’s really trying to hide it, for obvious reasons.”
My chest grew tight, my breathing labored.
Hearing somebody else say it felt strangely different. Not because I hadn’t known, but
because suddenly it existed outside my own head.
Mark had seen it. Apparently, everybody else had too.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “This is such a disaster.”
Mark’s expression shifted in a heartbeat. “No, the situation might be a disaster, but the feelings aren’t.”
I swallowed hard, then looked away toward the ice where another skater launched into a quad attempt, watched by their coach.
“He came to see me yesterday. He said he wanted to end it. End… us.” The words came out as a croak.
Mark tilted his head. “Because of the federation?”
I nodded. “And because he’s scared.” My throat tightened. “Mark… Are things in his country as bad as he makes out? I mean, I’m not doubting him, but I don’t know a thing about it. I don’t even know where Velkarya is. I slept through most of my high school Geography classes.”
He took a sip of coffee, then winced. “Whoa. Too hot.” He stared at the ice for a second or two.
“I don’t know a whole lot, if I’m honest, and between you and me, Geography was never my strongpoint either.
But what I do know?” Another pause. “They have long, brutal winters, and a strong sports culture. Politically speaking, the Olympics matter a lot to them. But that’s not the important thing.
” He looked me in the eye. “They’re a country with strong traditional values.
They support ‘family values,’ and that’s basically code for no same-sex marriage, no anti-discrimination laws, and LGBTQ+ people framed as ‘foreign influence,’” he air-quoted.
“They’re a smallish country of about ten million people, where same-sex relationships are technically legal, but when you factor in that LGBTQ people are regularly targeted by police harassment, media smear campaigns, and ‘morality watchdog’ groups…
” He took a breath. “They’re also a country whose athletes are explicitly forbidden from—and I quote—‘Public conduct that undermines national identity.’ Which everyone knows includes queerness. ”
I blinked. “I thought you said you didn’t know a whole lot.”
“I don’t, but David does. He’s kind of an activist. And he also likes to be informed about the countries we compete against.”
I swallowed. “So what you’re saying is, Luka has every right to be afraid.”
Mark nodded. He leaned against the boards beside me, arms folded.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “He said we should stop before this gets worse.”
“But you don’t want to.”
It wasn’t really a question.
“No.” The word came out rougher than I intended. “And the messed-up part is I barely care what happens to me anymore. I just…” I stopped, searching for the right phrasing and failing. “I don’t want this turning his life into collateral damage.” I closed my eyes. “He asked for space.”
“And?”
I thought about Luka standing in my room trying not to break apart while saying all the right things. About the way his voice cracked when he said I stop lying.
God.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “And I said I’d give it to him.”
Mark nodded. “But? Because I know there is one. I can feel it.”
“But I also asked him to stay.”
Mark winced. “Oof.”
“Yeah.”
“And did he?”
“No.”
Mark was quiet for several seconds after that, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “Well. That’s inconvenient timing.”
I laughed before I could stop it.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “You want emotional wisdom before competition, hire a therapist. You came to a skating coach.”
“I came here to practice.”
“And then you nearly skated through a wall.” He studied me another moment. “You’re seven hours before the biggest short program of your life. Can you still compete tonight?”
“Yes.” No hesitation there. Weirdly enough, skating felt clearer now than it had a month ago. There was less noise in my head, less second-guessing.
Mark noticed the answer immediately. “Huh.”
“What?”
“You skate better when you stop trying to perform perfection.” He tilted his head. “That’s new.” Mark scanned my face. “Okay.”
I blinked again. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He shrugged. “I trust you.” Mark clapped a hand against my shoulder. “Besides, if emotional devastation starts improving your component scores, I may encourage more romantic crises in future seasons.”
I barked out a real laugh at that.
He squeezed my shoulder. “You have it in you to be one of the most amazing skaters our country has ever produced.” He smiled. “I never made it to Olympic podium level.”
“Which always surprised me.” I’d seen videos of Mark skating back when he was in his twenties, about twenty years ago. I knew he’d been in the top ten at Worlds. I also knew he’d retired due to injury.
“I was known for beautiful skating, not for consistency. You have both.” He absently twisted his wedding ring. Then he glanced toward the door where Ethan had walked in, obviously for his time on the ice. “I envy guys like him.”
I followed his gaze toward Ethan. “Why?”
“Because he never had to choose between being honest and being safe.”